Mischief, my darlings, is what gives a Lady that secret smile. You know the one, don’t pretend.
She quirks her lips just so, a brow arches just a bit, and all the deviant dreams you can think up flit to the forefront of your mind.
What is she thinking of? What puts that smile on her lovely face?
Is she reminiscing about tying her servant to the bed, naked save for the silk scarf she’s blindfolded him with?
Or maybe she’s thinking of the new boots she purchased, specifically for the height of the heel and the potential intimidation such height lends.
Or possibly she’s thinking about the naughty little toy, vibrating so nicely against her clit, a secret she only shared with a few trusted pets as she goes about her day. Her arousal dripping down her thighs beneath the perfectly respectable outfit, adequate for any librarian really.
It’s the glint of mischief in her eye as she smiles that smile at you, the one that begs you to ask, hints at her secret. But you don’t ask, and she’ll never tell.
